


How Not To Make Your Move

by Jenavira



Category: The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenavira/pseuds/Jenavira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was, without a doubt, a low point in the career of Bobby Hobbes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not To Make Your Move

**Author's Note:**

> Written for longtai1

 

 

This was, without a doubt, a low point in the career of Bobby Hobbes.

It was definitely a low point in the partnership of Hobbes and Fawkes. They'd debated it in the squad car on the way over, and decided it was wrestling with that time Fawkes had broken cover on a stakeout while still invisible (causing Bobby to invent a truly bad ventriloquist cover on the spot) for Most Embarrassing Fawkes and Hobbes Moment.

"That was a bad idea you had there, my friend," Bobby said as the officer on duty slid the barred door shut with a clang, turning the key with an air of finality. And did it look like he was trying to get the hell away from them as fast as possible or what? And for that matter, what the hell kind of podunk town were they in they still had tooth-and-bolt keys on their jail cells?

Fawkes, damn him, was already kicking back on the tiny bunk, looking comfortable despite the fact that his ankles were hanging over the end. He did that weird thing where he shrugged lying down. "Well, you know, I wouldn't have had to try to quicksilver the whole goddamn van if you hadn't decided you had to hit the guy," he said.

"Yeah, well," Bobby said, settling his shoulders uncomfortably. "How was I supposed to know he was an undercover cop?"

"Hobbes," Fawkes said, half-sitting up, "He had a _badge_."

Bobby waved a dismissive hand. "You can't trust those. Get 'em cheap, made in China. Only an expert can tell the difference."

Fawkes slumped back down onto the bunk. "Fine, whatever. But I'm not staying in here any longer than I absolutely have to."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Fawkes held up an empty hand, then shook it a little, and tiny silver flakes fell away from a heavy, wicked-looking lockpick. 

Bobby grinned. "Nice."

Fawkes grinned back. "Oh, yeah."

"Great, now let's get out of here before your timer runs out and we get 'psychotic lunatic' added to the rap sheet."

"I'm pretty sure they can't charge you with that anymore," Fawkes muttered as he knelt down by the bars. Bobby took up watch at the other end of the cell, keeping an eye on the long hallway. "You think?" 

"Yeah, I think that went out..." there was a click, and the door slid open the tiniest bit. "About the same time that lock was made, actually." Fawkes grabbed the bars of the door and slid, wincing at the slight noise it made. Bobby made a quick assessment -- _left or right?_ \-- and headed for the door least likely to contain problems and therefore most likely to lead out. When he turned around to call clear, Fawkes was just a couple steps behind him. He was just getting ready to give the kid another lecture on proper espionage procedure -- and had Fawkes never paid attention in James Bond movies? -- when the door at the other end of the hallway started to open.

"Oh, crap," they both said at once, and then Fawkes grabbed his shoulder and there was a piercing sensation of cold, and then the world went grey.

* * *

"I am never gonna get used to that," Bobby said as the quicksilver flaked off into a small silver pile in the parking lot where they'd left the van. Stupid small-town cops didn't even bother to check it over, it looked like. "Look at that, they even left the keys in the ignition for us, ain't that nice of them?" 

No answer. "Fawkes?" Yeah, that was a familiar silence. A familiar _not good_ silence. "Fawkes?" he said, even though he knew what he'd see before he turned around. And sure enough, the kid was on the ground holding the back of his neck, that awful spasm just hitting again when Bobby hit his knees to grab ahold of Darien's shoulders. "Hang in there, Fawkes, just a minute --"

Fawkes shoved him aside like it was nothing, and Bobby scrambled to his feet again, cursing himself, the Fat Man, and everyone else he could think of for not thinking to stash an extra dose of counteragent in the glove box or something. "I mean, we need it often enough," he muttered to himself as Fawkes started moving in his direction. "Okay, take it easy," he called out, soothing as possible, "just...get in the van, and we'll get back to the Keep and get you your shot, okay?"

Fawkes just kind of glared at him, creepy red eyes making him look actually a little intimidating for once. "Okay? Okay?" Yeah, Bobby didn't really think that was going to work. "Okay, I'm just gonna lie down and let them stick me full of needles because they're too _fucking_ incompetent to actually deal with anything? Why do you do it, huh?" Fawkes asked, tilting his head sideways like that would help him understand. "Why do you just go _along_ with them? All their rules, all their stupid plans --" He stepped another step forward, and Bobby took a step back. Not that he didn't trust his partner, but you never knew what the guy would do when the crazy took hold, and Bobby wanted space to move.

"You know," he said, trying for casual and not quite making it, "the Fat Man pays the bills. That means he makes the rules." Another step forward, another step back.

"Really?" Step, step. "That's it? That's...the whole reason?" Fawkes kept slinking forward. 

"Sure. What, you got a better reason?" 

Bobby had his back to the side of the van now, and _that_ was not supposed to be happening. He glanced sideways, looking for the corner of the wall, and while he did Fawkes took that last step in closer. Now he was so close Bobby could feel the heat radiating off his body. 

And then Fawkes leaned down and kissed him, hard, his mouth already open and his tongue sliding across Bobby's lower lip like a challenge. Bobby didn't move, and if his jaw dropped open a little that was not his fault, and neither was Fawkes's tongue against his and Fawkes's hands on the wall beside his head and Fawkes's leg pressing up against his, caging him in.

The kid could kiss, Bobby would give him that.

After a moment he pulled away, and the crazy red eyes made the next bit easier. "Let's try that again," Bobby said, and hit him.

* * *

Darien woke up in the Keep, thankfully pretty well clothed this time and with a headache that was starting to be depressingly familiar. "Is it totally necessary to hit me in the head all the time?" he asked the room at large before he'd really opened his eyes.

"Depends how much of a pain in the ass you were being before I hit you." Hobbes was perched on one of Claire's rolling desk chairs, looking way less smug than he sounded. "You doin' all right, partner?"

"Other than the concussion." Darien sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair. It didn't help. "And, um..." He trailed off as bits of memory came floating to the surface and his mouth dried up without warning. He snuck a glance at Hobbes, who looked a little concerned. Great, that was helping. He must have made a face, because then Hobbes put on his innocent look, and then Darien was sure he was remembering right. "Oh, crap." 

"What?" Somebody really ought to tell him that that innocent look looked about as innocent as a five-year-old kid covered in chocolate standing next to the empty cookie jar. That, and Bobby wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Oh my god." Darien pulled the blanket over his head. "Oh my god." Was going invisible better or worse than the blanket at this point? Well, the blanket was very comforting, and besides, it meant he couldn't see Bobby either. Which was good, because if he could, Darien thought he might start remembering more things, like how Bobby hadn't really seemed all that put off when Crazy Darien started molesting him, and how Bobby Hobbes might well be a really good kisser, and these were things that Darien did not particularly want to know. Besides, if Claire came in and he was invisible, she'd want to know what was going on.

Just then he heard heels clicking on the concrete floor. They stopped, and a moment later Claire said, "Is everything all right?"

So much for that plan.

"Fine," Darien said quickly, at the same time Hobbes said, "Fine," right next to him, and didn't _that_ just sound like they'd gotten into trouble again. Well, maybe they had. 

The footsteps came closer, and then Claire laid a hand on Darien's shoulder through the blanket. "Are you going to come out, then?" she asked.

"Um," Darien said. "No. Nah, I think I'll just...stay here."

"For how long?" she said gently.

Darien considered. "Forever?"

"Don't you think the Official is going to have something to say about that?"

"Speaking of," Hobbes said, "I better go and, um. The mission. Tell him about...yeah." 

Darien waited until he could hear the door closing to take the blanket off his head, but before he got the chance, Claire had already pulled it away. She was standing with it folded around her arms, giving him a stern if slightly worried look. " _Now_ will you tell me what that was all about?" 

"No, I don't think so." He was aiming for cool and controlled, but he could feel his face turning red, which was a little damaging to that general impression. "But look, I've been hit from behind, locked up in jail, crazy, and hit in the head, all in one day. Can I go home now?" He gave her his best kicked-puppy look. Hey, it couldn't hurt.

Claire raised a surprised eyebrow, but all she said was, "I'm a little worried about the possibility of a concussion --"

"No drugs, no alcohol, no sleep, call if it hurts, yeah?" Darien cut her off. "See you tomorrow." He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair Hobbes had been sitting on and fled before she could register any more objections.

* * *

Turned out "no sleep" was kind of annoying, particularly when you didn't have anything to occupy your mind other than thinking about how your implanted-gland-induced id had decided that making out with your partner was a fun way to spend the afternoon. So Darien was sitting on his couch, pretending to read an issue of _Philosophy Today_ and wondering, on a scale of one to ten, just how fucked up his life really was. He was thinking somewhere around a twelve.

So when the knock on the door came, Darien was actually kind of relieved, even though he knew who it had to be.

He knew better than to expect any attention until after Hobbes had done the usual security sweep. It was kind of impressive, in the efficiency of the paranoia - under the couch, behind the fridge, in the pockets of the pool table and to be fair Darien would never have thought of hiding anything there, but it wasn't a bad idea. When he was done, Hobbes walked straight over, grabbed Darien by the back of the neck, and kissed him hard.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" Darien asked, a little unhappy at just how short of breath he was and, oh yeah, really, really confused.

Hobbes - Bobby - was giving him a speculative look. "You know, you're not as good at that when you're caught unawares. It's kind of a general problem you have, you need to work on your reflexes." His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

"Well, it's not every day my partner walks up and plants one on me without even saying hello, so I think I've got an excuse."

Bobby shrugged. "So now we're even." 

"That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. If I kiss you because I'm crazy, and then you kiss me because..." Darien sought for a reason. "Well, because you're a freak, that does not make us even." _And don't think I haven't noticed how close you're still standing and not moving away,_ Darien thought but did not say.

"Okay then, what do you suggest?" If you had bet him money twelve hours ago that Bobby Hobbes had a sexy tone of voice, Darien would have lost. Then again, it was starting to look like there were a lot of things Darien once thought were a sure bet that were now seriously in question. For one thing, he had some suggestions. On the other hand, he couldn't actually imagine himself _saying_ any of them. He settled for, "I'm going to have to get back to you on that."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You go right ahead. I'll just be waiting right here."

"Right there? You, uh, don't want a little more space or anything?" They were, after all, pretty much leaning on the kitchen table, and Darien wasn't too sure how stable it was going to be.

"No thanks, I'm good," Bobby said, and he actually did look plenty comfortable standing there in Darien's personal space. 

Darien gave a second's thought to making himself a list of the reasons why this might be a really terrible idea, starting with _you have to work with this guy, you know_ , and going straight through _sexual identity crisis_ and _really, Bobby Hobbes?_ , and then he decided _fuck it_ and leaned over and kissed Bobby again anyway. Which seemed to be the right decision, what with the way Bobby was kissing him back and had his hands up under Darien's shirt and had gotten rid of the rest of Darien's personal space without wasting any time at all. Which, you know, Darien had to admit was pretty much okay with him, just as long as he never had to be the one to explain to Claire what the hell that afternoon was all about.

 


End file.
